


Reunion

by nightrose



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, HYDRA Trash Party, Humiliation, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 07:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11099784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: Rumlow finds an unexpected way to get his revenge.





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(Pic) Reunion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716146) by [aliitvodeson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliitvodeson/pseuds/aliitvodeson). 



> This is serious trash fic. Don't read it unless that's what you're into. Thanks!

 

He’s been so fucking stupid.

 

No, wait. That’s not really it. What it is is: he’s been so fucking happy. 

 

That’s the real problem. He should have known he didn’t get that back. He could have had _safe_ , maybe. He could have gone through the rest of his life without being tortured, without being made to kill. That would have been a reasonable goal for him, after everything. 

 

“Live happily ever after and play house with gorgeous boyfriend” was not. He should have seen it. He should have told Steve _no_ when he asked. Then he’d have been able to have a little bit of pride left intact. 

 

He wouldn’t _be_ in this situation if he hadn’t let himself try for something better, something he doesn’t deserve. But he’d forgotten this. He’d had to. If he was going to be with Steve, he couldn’t be vigilant every moment. Couldn’t stay up keeping guard all night. Couldn’t think constantly about the fact that they might come for him, might find him, might take him back. The anxiety was too much. Instead, he’d started to trust and forgotten to fear. They’d had alarms and locked doors, but of course that wasn’t enough. He should have remembered what the alternative is. 

 

But no, he’d wanted Steve too much. He’d wanted to be happy, to feel safe. He’d even thought he deserved it. And he’d forgotten the truth, which is that HYDRA always, always comes for what they own.

 

They have no use for him now, as a fighter. Obviously, that won’t stop them from this.

 

Bucky is going to be punished. 

 

Steve’s away on a mission. They must have deactivated the alarms, snuck in, and drugged Bucky’s food. The trigger words don’t work now—they have no choice but to overwhelm him, and they can’t do that by physical force. 

 

When Bucky wakes up, the first thing he’s aware of is the cold and the smell. Then he realizes he can’t move his arms, or his legs, or indeed any part of his body. He’s completely naked. He wasn’t when they found him—he doesn’t exactly make a habit of eating his dinner in the nude. Someone must have cut his sweats and t-shirt off of him. It’s hard to imagine HYDRA gently undressing his unconscious body, so he pictures a knife instead. That’s more their way of doing things. Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency. That’s the nazi aesthetic. There are ropes—no, not ropes, something harder, elephant wire maybe, holding him in place. Rope wouldn’t hold him anymore. He’s too strong for that. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s safe. It never has. He could always have torn his handlers limb from limb in a fair fight, but that’s never mattered. He’s not allowed to fight back. First it was words in his head. Now it’s the ropes. If he broke through them, which he might be able to, or ripped the wall down to take it with him, it would be something else. It always is. His knees are pressed against the floor, his body bent over. His arms are twisted behind him, in a reverse prayer position he’s found himself in too often in the past. Those memories came back after the ones of killing, but come back they did. Steve had held him through every one of the shaking nightmares. Steve had always been there, as he always will be. He’s promised Bucky that. And he’s not here now, while Bucky is tied up and naked and helpless. And afraid. It had taken him a moment to calm down enough to recognize the emotion that’s broiling in his stomach, but that’s what it is—sick, churning terror. 

 

He opens his mouth to scream. 

 

Immediately, there is a rough hand in his hair, pulling his head up and whispering in his ear. Hot, damp breath blows against his face. He does not let himself flinch, not yet. He has to save those responses for later. He can’t feel how horrible this is, or he won’t make it through what’s coming. “I wouldn’t do that.” It’s Rumlow’s voice. 

 

Bucky forces himself to be quiet. 

 

“Are you going to be good, asset?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky whispers. He recognizes the cold hard thing he’s tied over now. He must be face down on a toilet. It isn’t the first time. Humiliating the asset wasn’t much of a game, though. All the shame came from the handlers, really. The asset just did what he was told, whatever it was. He’d repeat whatever dirty words he was told, but he didn’t know what they meant, didn’t know what humiliation was.Bucky imagines this is a real treat for them. Fuck with his head and fuck him at the same time. Must be a real thrill, if you’re a rapist that gets off on hurting people as much as possible. 

 

“Lemme tell you what’s gonna happen to you. It’s only fair. That way you’ll know how to do what we want, right?”

 

So there’s more than just Rumlow here. The others must be being very quiet, hiding their presence from Bucky pretty effectively. Of course, he doesn’t exactly have the vantage point a sniper would dream of. Most of what he can see, when he opens his eyes, is cold porcelain. 

 

“What do you say?”

 

Shit, he wants an answer. Bucky guesses this is their big chance to fuck with his head while they rape him. It wasn’t exactly possible to play head games with the asset. The problem with that is that he figures there probably aren’t gonna be a lot of opportunities to give just the right answer that will mean they let him go. It’s probably going to be more like ‘give them more excuses to hurt him.’ Besides, he can’t even remember what Rumlow is on about. Give him a break, he’s drugged and naked and tied up in a strange bathroom and about to be raped and probably brainwashed and tortured. It’s been a bad day, basically. “Sorry,” he says, hoping that’s safe. 

 

It isn’t. Rumlow zaps him hard with some kind of prod. The pain jolts from his hip all over his body. “I’m being very nice to you. Explaining the situation. Telling you how to be good. What do you say?”

 

Bucky might be out of it, but he’s not stupid. “Thank you,” he says, and adds, “Sir” for good measure. He’s found that it’s hard to go wrong with a little groveling. 

 

He doesn’t get shocked this time, so that’s a win. “What do you think is going to happen to you, asset?”

 

Now, if Steve were in this position, he’d probably do something incredibly stupid, like point out that he’s not an asset, he’s a human being. He’d probably try to convince Rumlow to join the side of truth and justice and because he’s Steve, he’d probably succeed. Bucky isn’t that dumb. “I figure you’re probably going to rough me up a little, try to brainwash me, maybe kill me when you see that won’t work again,” Bucky says, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible. He thinks he succeeds admirably, given the circumstances. 

 

“There are twenty men queued up in that hallway already, and more coming. Civilians. They’ve been told this is a porn shoot. Shown the consent forms you signed, told your safeword. All that good stuff. Of course, _you_ don’t get to know the magic word. They’re going to come in here and they’re going to have some fun with you, and I’m going to take a nice video for your boyfriend. A little souvenir for him.”

 

There’s a certain tidiness to the plan, Bucky supposes. After his injuries, Rumlow’s not incredibly likely to be able to conduct a whole rape-and-torture session solo, and it doesn’t seem like he’s had much, if any, help with this from the remnants of HYDRA. This is Rumlow’s own personal revenge quest. Which makes the fact that Bucky has succumbed to it all the more upsetting. Taken down by a lone lunatic. Well, it’s not so bad. He’ll wait until Rumlow isn’t expecting it, until the party starts, and then he’ll rip this whole fucking toilet right out of the plumbing, bash Rumlow’s skull in with it, and go home to Steve. 

 

“Oh, and one more thing you should know,” Rumlow adds, his tone unbelievably oily. Bucky flinches, which he wouldn’t really have thought possible, given the current situation. “I have a gun. If you fight back, if you scream for help, if you actually get yourself out of this—I know I won’t be able to kill you, but I will take out every single one of my friends lined up outside. I know they’re perverts, but some of them are decent people, I’m sure. Have wives, kids, mothers who love them. All that shit. You want them to die so your ass doesn’t get used up one more time, that’s your call.”

 

Fucker.

 

“I just have to leave the gentlemen their instructions, and then we can start the fun.”

 

There’s the sound of a click, and then a weird, wet feeling of something moving against his ass. Rumlow’s writing something on his skin. Bucky doesn’t even bother to try and make it out. Whatever it is, he’s just got to ignore this, get through it, and focus on the fact that Steve is going to come get him out of this.

 

The door opens. Rumlow is speaking to another man, a stranger, in the hallway. Bucky closes his eyes and focuses on Steve, Steve, Steve. 

 

***

 

Steve gets home from the mission a little after one in the morning. The apartment is dark out, not one light on. That’s a little strange—Bucky usually sleeps with a nightlight—but he doesn’t really think much of it. 

 

He turns the lights in the kitchen on. There’s Bucky’s usual lunch, turkey and cheese on a bagel and chips on the side, sitting half-eaten on a plate. No sign of Bucky. Steve’s heart starts to beat faster. He tries to tell himself that it’s nothing, but his stomach is turning over. 

 

“Bucky?”

 

Maybe he’s asleep and that’s why he’s not answering. Steve checks the bedroom. The bathroom. The kitchen again. Back to the bedroom. Calls Bucky’s name.

 

There’s no answer. There’s no sign of him. There doesn’t seem to have been a fight, either. And none of Bucky’s things are missing. He probably didn’t leave willingly, then. 

 

Steve takes out his phone. It feels too-small in his hand, clumsy with nerves as he is now. His fingers tremble as he pulls up his last-dialed number and calls Bucky. The phone rings, rings, rings. Someone answers. 

 

“Hello?”

 

There’s no answer at the other hand, just background noise. Steve hears grunts and moans and flesh slapping on flesh and someone crying out in pain.

 

_Bucky_ , he realizes, he knows. 

 

Whoever has Bucky’s phone hangs up. Steve calls again, and again, but there isn’t any answer. 

 

Steve’s thoughts are racing, his heart pounding. Someone has Bucky. Someone is hurting him. He doesn’t know if it’s HYDRA, if it’s random violence, if it’s some other group he doesn’t know of. He doesn’t know if they’re trying to break Bucky back into being the Winter Soldier, or get leverage over Steve, or just hurt him for fun. And there’s nothing, _nothing_ he can do. 

 

Steve’s phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a text message. A picture. 

 

Bucky’s face is hidden, but it’s his hair, his arm, his body. There’s no question that it really is him. 

 

And there’s something written on his skin, right across the familiar, lovely curve of his ass. Beneath the stains of come and the dripping blood and the blossoming bruises are two words, written clearly in dark ink. Steve reads them and his phone falls out of his hand. He shouldn’t be surprised. He should have known that’s what they would do, with Bucky in their clutches. 

 

Right across Bucky’s naked and vulnerable skin someone—Rumlow—has written two words. 

 

_Rape me._


End file.
